Chapter 14

After Vance made his comeback, he wasn't as career-driven as before.

He came home from work on time every day.

Tying on an apron, bustling around the kitchen.

"Just wait a bit longer. Dessert's almost ready."

The devoted husband vibes were overwhelming. They really had me.

I hugged him from behind.

Suddenly remembering years ago, when he went bankrupt and tried to jump off the building.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" He was piping frosting onto a cake—strawberry, Vivi's favorite.

"I was thinking about the burlap sack."

"…We agreed never to mention the burlap sack."

"You were going to jump off a building in a burlap sack so you wouldn't scare people."

"It was considerate!"

"It was insane."

He turned around, frosting gun in hand, and dotted my nose with pink cream.

"If I hadn't been insane, you wouldn't have brought Vivi. And if you hadn't brought Vivi—"

"—you'd be a sack of bones in a parking lot."

"Romantic."

Vivi ran in, the puppy—now a full-grown mutt named Dumpling (Xavier's influence)—at her heels.

"Is the cake ready? Is it? Is it?"

"Two more minutes, princess."

Vance's comeback had been spectacular, actually. It turned out that when the villain wasn't burdened by the plot's predetermined destiny, he was frighteningly competent.

He'd started small—consulting for a startup, using connections that respected him despite his fall. Within a year, he'd turned it into a mid-size firm. Within two, he'd attracted serious investors.

He was never going to be what he was. But he was building something new. Something entirely his.

The adoption had gone through six months ago. The judge had looked at Vance's financials—still modest then—and hesitated.

Then Vivi, who'd been sitting quietly in the courtroom, tugged the judge's sleeve.

"Excuse me. My daddy makes pancakes shaped like bunnies. They have three ears sometimes, but they taste good."

The judge approved it on the spot.

Tonight, the cake was for Vivi's fifth birthday—her first real one.

At the foster home, birthdays weren't celebrated. Just another day.

Vance had spent three days planning this one. Streamers. Balloons. A banner he'd hand-painted that read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY VIVI" in lopsided letters.

He placed five candles on the cake and lit them.

Vivi stared at the tiny flames, her eyes reflecting the light.

"Make a wish, baby," Vance whispered.

She closed her eyes tight. Scrunched her face in concentration.

Then blew.

All five candles went out.

"What did you wish for?" I asked.

She opened her eyes. "I wished that Daddy never finds another building to climb."

The room went very quiet.

Then Vance pulled her into his arms and held her so tight she squeaked.

"Never," he said into her hair. "Never, ever again."

I watched them—my ridiculous, bankrupt, rebuilt, pancake-making villain and the four-year-old foster kid who saved his life by crying on a rooftop.

The original plot said the villain dies alone.

The original plot was wrong.